


Warmth at Wartime

by AfricanDaisy



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slash, War of the Last Alliance, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: Three years have passed since the Last Alliance of Elves and Men marched to war and the long horror-filled days away from home are taking the toll. But still, there is love and joy even to be found in the midst of war.
Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/25743
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Warmth at Wartime

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year but I didn't post it here because I didn't realise how popular and loved Luthavar would become! So while this is not a new story, it is new to most of you and I hope that you enjoy it. I also just wanted to say thank you so much to my readers and reviewers. Every bit of feedback and every kudos means the world to me. I hope you all have a wonderful time over the holidays whether you celebrate them or not. Merry Christmas, and may 2021 be kind to us all.

The long journey between the lush eaves of Greenwood the Great and the ashy plains of Mordor seemed to grow longer every time, yet still it was a journey that Luthavar Faelindion diligently made. He didn’t have to. Certain privileges came with being an Elder of the Greenwood and a cousin to the King himself; delegating the nasty business of venturing into war torn lands every twelve weeks was one of them. But Lutha couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the merchants and traders of his guild, or the military quartermasters, for indeed he trusted them implicitly. Trade didn’t go far without trust. Nor was it that he felt particularly bound by duty to make the journey. Indeed, there was plenty of work for him to do at home, and the great water wagons and carts of food and healing supplies and bags of letters and gifts from loved ones would travel back and forth whether he accompanied them or not. No, it was for love that Lutha made that ever lengthening journey; love of his dear older cousins Oropher and Vehiron, love of his sweet younger cousin Thranduil, love of his healer friend Galad who struggled with the horrors of war more than he would let on to anyone else, and love of Elthoron. Elthoron, who made butterflies flutter in Lutha’s stomach and his heart race and skip beats and do all manner of things that a heart should not do. 

“Where is Elthoron?” 

That was always one of the first things that Lutha asked when he arrived in the war camp. He asked it knowing that Elthoron would be on patrol, or visiting his injured warriors, or dealing with paperwork or discipline or whatever other duties came with being a Captain in Aran Oropher’s army, and that he would find Lutha when time allowed. Lutha’s favourite reply to that question had been _right here, Lutha-nín_ , and he had turned to find his lover standing there with a small smile on his face. But as Lutha asked the question this time, he hoped only for one thing: that Elthoron was not there. 

“His company have been patrolling the foothills of the Ephel Dúath this last week,” replied Prince Thranduil, who had come to greet his cousin. “I’m sorry, Lutha. But they are due in camp by nightfall at the latest. Elthoron will come to you as soon as he can, I’m sure.” 

“Actually, that is the exact opposite of what I want,” Lutha said. 

“Why? You’ve not been here to have a quarrel with him.” Doubt tinged Thranduil’s voice, but then his eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! You’re in trouble. Is that it?” 

“No! Well, usually,” Lutha acknowledged. “I know you know how that is." 

“Rude,” Thranduil protested. 

“Yet so accurate,” murmured the Prince’s best friend and heart-brother Lieutenant Linwë who stood behind him with one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. 

“Look, just keep Elthoron from returning to his tent if he comes back in the next few hours,” Lutha said. “Can you do that?” 

“Oh yes, because the King’s son has no other duties to keep him occupied,” Thranduil said idly. 

“Both your assistance and your sarcasm are noted and appreciated,” Lutha remarked. 

Thranduil nodded dutifully. “You’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t say thank you. So thank you.” Lutha smiled at his cousin and turned away, only to hesitate and look back. It was an awkward question to ask, and the replies were not always easy to give or pleasant to hear, but Lutha felt that he had to ask it anyway. “How are you?”

There was silence as Thranduil exchanged a glance with Linwë, a wordless message passing between them with the meeting of their eyes. It was the look of two young warriors experiencing the war in a way that Lutha could never understand. “This is the third Yule away from home,” Thranduil said finally. “It gets harder each year.” 

“Find Master Rhosdir and his cart,” Lutha offered sympathetically. “It may bring you some joy.” 

“What did you bring from home?” Thranduil asked. 

“Just find the cart and you will see,” Lutha replied with a laugh, and he slipped away before Thranduil could pester him with more questions.

Indeed, Master Rhosdir’s cart was precisely where Lutha himself was headed though he had the advantage of knowing just where to find it amongst the mass of wagons and supplies. He greeted Rhosdir with a nod as the other ellon removed the protective canvas from the back of the cart to reveal a hundred potted evergreen trees of varying heights and sizes. “Prince Thranduil will be here soon,” Lutha informed Rhosdir. “Let him have half a dozen of these for the royal family. Ensure the quartermasters know that another half dozen are reserved for the healing tents and the rest are to be distributed in communal areas through the camp.” 

Rhosdir gave a brief nod to that. “Which one is yours, my lord?” 

“This one,” Lutha murmured, wrapping his arms around the clay pot that his specially chosen tree sat in. The tree was half his height, with needles of richest green. The fresh and woody scent that the tree released pleasantly covered the noxious fumes of Mordor - at least for a moment - as Lutha pulled it off the cart. “Get some rest when you’re done, Rhosdir,” he added. “And thank you for all your work.” 

Everything else that Lutha had brought from home had already been taken to Elthoron’s tent by his assistant, so he only had to make one journey through the war camp. He was glad of that, for he was eager to start the task that he had set himself, and indeed he wasted no time when he reached the tent in getting to work. Having one’s own space was a privilege afforded to high ranking military officers, both in recognition of their rank and for practical reasons to allow them to work in peace, so Elthoron enjoyed a private tent. Not for the first or last time, Lutha was glad of that, too.

Over the following hours, the immaculately kept tent was transformed into something beautiful. Strings of polished wooden beads in frosty silver and blue, interspersed with crystals and opals which would shimmer when lamplight reflected off them, were strung across the ceiling like a net of stars. An evergreen garland heavy with pinecones and red berries and silk ribbons went around the front of Elthoron’s desk. Crowning it all was the wintery scent of peppermint as Lutha lit fat candles infused with the fragrance. 

Finally it was time for the tree. Lutha had set it down in the corner of the tent and now he knelt before it to hang cleverly carved woodland decorations from its boughs. He had used all the strings of beads already, so he removed his silk scarf from around his neck and wound it artfully around the tree. He sat back on his heels to admire his work, and then he felt it - the unmistakeable point of a sword against his back. Lutha froze, eyes widening, breath catching. So immersed in his work had he been that he hadn’t even heard anyone entering the tent nor felt the breeze through the door. 

“Who dares enter the private space of a Captain in His Majesty’s army?”   
  
Only the sword against his back held Lutha still. He breathed out as much as he dared in relief and annoyance. “Elthoron! It’s me.” 

The sound of a sword being sheathed followed a low chuckle. “I know, my beautiful boy. You think that I could not recognise you?” A pause, and then Elthoron added with a trace of mischief, “Especially from behind?” 

Lutha rolled his eyes and turned on his knees to look up at his lover. Their eyes met as Elthoron gazed back down at him, and Lutha’s breath caught at the lamplight that cast a golden halo around the warrior’s head. “Hello,” he whispered, rising slowly. 

Elthoron had always been more of a half-smile kind of elf, but his smile now went all the way to his eyes. “Hello.” He put his hands on either side of Lutha’s face and kissed him. 

The kiss was hard and soft all at once. It was a tender kiss that said _I missed you_ , a desperate kiss that said _I want you_ , a lingering kiss that said _I love you and I don’t want this to end_. It left Lutha breathless even as he craved more, but when it did indeed end, he slowly bowed his head until his brow rested against Elthoron’s strong chest. “Your hands are cold,” he breathed, needing something to fill the silence as he gathered himself. 

“The nights grow longer and colder, but it warms my heart to have you here,” Elthoron murmured. Idly running his fingers through the spill of dark hair that fell down Lutha’s back, he lifted his gaze and looked around slowly. “Did you do all this for me?” 

“You can’t have Yule without decorations,” Lutha replied softly. “Do you like it?” 

“No.” Cobalt eyes met grey as Elthoron lifted the younger ellon’s chin with the tips of his fingers. “I love it, Lutha-nín.”   
  
“Happy Yule,” Lutha whispered with a breath of relief.   
  
Elthoron smiled down at him. “It is now.” 


End file.
